


hopeless and homeless and lost in the haze

by oopshidaisy



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Adultery, Drunk Sex, Episode: s06e02 Dennis Gets Divorced, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27164642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy
Summary: “Why’d you even fuckin’ marry her, dude?” Mac’s saying.
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 1
Kudos: 104





	hopeless and homeless and lost in the haze

**Author's Note:**

> this is something that's been clattering around in my head for a while so i thought i'd make it a porny reality
> 
> title is from 'sometime around midnight' by the airborne toxic event. because dennis is hopeless and mac is homeless and they're both lost in the haze of the wine (or, in this case, fruity cocktails).

“Why’d you even fuckin’ marry her, dude?” Mac’s saying, loud over the pulsing music of the club. There are lights shifting over his skin, pink to yellow to green to blue and back again. Dennis is the right side of drunk, the side where getting married to Maureen is something funny that’s happened to him, rather than a clusterfuck of his own making.

“Just,” he says, blinking fast, “thought I could do it, you know? Be normal.”

Mac grins, rueful. “I know the feeling, bro.”

It makes Dennis want to kick him. This whole week has been an ongoing attempt to get some kind of reaction out of Mac, to make him fucking jealous or angry or _something_. But Mac hasn’t done anything the way Dennis wanted it, hasn’t kissed him or punched him or even yelled, not even when Dennis kicked him out of his own home. Mac, who is never calm about anything, has suddenly embraced some semblance of zen just in time for Dennis to need—

Well, for Dennis to need _him_.

He could start a fight, of course. If he hit Mac, Mac’d hit back. They’d tussle down on the ground and Dennis would end up with a split lip, the rusty taste of blood and sweat, Mac heavy on top of him. Because Mac always wins. Fuck, Dennis always _wants_ Mac to win.

When he looks up, Mac is staring at him searchingly. It sears through Dennis’ skin, the heat of Mac’s focus. It’s possible he’s drunk too much; it’s equally possible that he’s not drunk enough to handle whatever this desperate, pulsing feeling is.

Charlie and Frank went home hours ago, or what feels like hours ago. The strip club had gotten old pretty quickly after that, which is why they’re tucked up against the bar of the gaudy kind of place that serves drinks with tiny umbrellas in them. There are seven discarded umbrellas scattered across the surface of Mac and Dennis’ section of the bar already. Dennis has been drinking mixes that taste like cherry. Mac’s been drinking something electric blue.

Right now, Dennis longs for the buffer of either the gang or the miserable-looking women sliding around poles. If there were anywhere to be caught except for the tractor beam of Mac’s unusually intense brown eyes, he’d be okay. Probably.

“Something on my face, dude?” he gasps out.

“No,” Mac says. His voice is slow. “I just realized something.”

“Yeah?”

Mac leans forward daringly, angling his body so his hand can’t be seen by anyone in the bar; he places his hand heavy on Dennis’ thigh, thumb stroking at the seam of his jeans.

“Yeah,” he says.

Dennis is hard so quickly it’s embarrassing. This is the sort of thing he’s meant to be able to control, and maybe he can after a couple of beers, but right now self-control is a sort of distant dream.

Because Mac’s halfway out of his stool and Dennis is still sat in his, there’s a height difference that doesn’t naturally exist between them. It gives Mac the ability to loom. It gives Dennis the addictive rush of being loomed over.

His mind races with the possibilities. They can’t go home, obviously: Maureen’s there, besides which it’d just remind Mac of getting kicked out and he’d get pissy about that again. Paddy’s seems an obnoxiously long distance away. And that’s about their gamut of options.

Mac laughs abruptly, quiet. Or maybe just quiet in comparison to the music.

“You only want this when it’s fucking impossible, man,” he says. He’s not exactly wrong, but Dennis thinks that’s reducing Mac’s role in it. Sure, they’ve never had sex in the apartment they both live in, which seems like they’re turning their noses up at the concept of convenience, but they both know that’s a sure-fire way to make things weird. Instead, they have sex in other people’s houses, blazers hanging off shoulders and borrowed names on their lips; they do it in Dennis’ car, pulled to the side of an abandoned road, limbs bashing into unforgiving metal. They’ve fucked just about anywhere in Paddy’s that can be adapted to the purpose.

“You know if the bathrooms here are clean?” Dennis asks. His voice is remarkably steady.

“How the fuck would I know that?” Mac says. “But it’s fancy as shit here, man, they probably are.”

‘Fancy’ to Mac means that the drinks cost more than two dollars. It doesn’t matter, though, because Dennis is already hopping off his barstool and dragging Mac towards the neon pink sign reading TOILETS, just as obnoxious and bright as the fruity cocktails had been. And people say _Paddy’s_ doesn’t have class. At least they don’t offend people’s eyes like this.

His grip on Mac’s wrist is the kind of tight that would normally have him bitching and whining, saying something about how he bruises easily. _Everyone_ bruises easily, Dennis has said time and time again. Mac’s not special.

The music’s quieter in the hall that splits into the two bathrooms. It’s going to be harder to explain if they burst into the ladies’ and someone’s already in there, Dennis thinks, but it’ll probably be cleaner. He makes his peace with god and slips inside, tugging Mac along.

They’re lucky it’s a Tuesday night. It’s the kind of bathroom that’s designed for the high capacity of Fridays and Saturdays, with a few rows of stalls – all of which are currently abandoned. Dennis makes a beeline towards the one in the corner, the largest.

Mac makes a disapproving sound. “I don’t think we’re allowed to take the disabled stall.”

“Do you want a range of motion or not, asshole?” Dennis demands.

Mac shrugs. “I think we’d do just as well anywhere.”

There’s something about the way he says it that sends sparks shivering up Dennis’ skin. Mac says it like it’s a universal truth, like it’s not at all about where they have sex this one time.

But this is the way Mac is when he’s drunk, or high, or tired. He forgets about his big scary Catholic god and turns into pure need. It’s gorgeous, for however long it lasts.

“Fine,” Dennis says. His voice is a mess, entirely out of his control. “This one’ll do.”

He kicks open a stall that’s still far enough away from the door that they’re unlikely to be discovered if someone comes in. He pulls Mac in by his wrist, which he never let go of, and locks the door behind them.

Mac’s mouth is on him, then, a biting slam that’s electric in its messiness. Mac’s kind of a terrible kisser, objectively, but Dennis loves the way he does it. No technique, just open-mouthed want. It makes Dennis want to throw his own rules out of the window and just respond in kind, so he does, letting go of Mac’s wrist to grip around his neck, thumb pressing into a spot right below his jaw. Mac grunts at the pressure, gives Dennis a thigh between his legs in return. It’s a nice gesture, but relatively useless with Dennis still in his jeans. Still, he wants to drag this out before he has to go home and crawl into bed with his wife. So he lets Mac kiss him, just kiss him, for as long as he wants. Mac slides his hands up under Dennis’ shirt, splaying them across his waist. They’re both hot and cold at the same time, somehow, and Dennis shudders into them.

“What do you want?” Mac asks after the thudding bass of the music has changed twice. He’s moving his hands, up to Dennis’ shoulder blades and then down to the waistband of his jeans in maddening strokes.

Dennis knows exactly what he wants. He wants Mac to let him be selfish.

He says, “Your fingers,” and Mac’s eyes flood black.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean – you’re _ready_?”

“Well, I don’t have any lube, but—”

“I’ve got lube.”

“Why the fuck have you got lube on you right now?” Dennis asks.

“I don’t know, man, why’d you clean your asshole?” Mac asks.

Dennis wrinkles his nose but concedes the point. He does this without actually _saying_ that he concedes the point, because that would set a bad precedent. He just starts undoing his jeans and lets Mac draw him in for another endless kiss.

There’s a pleasant little lurch in his stomach that comes from knowing what a terrible fucking idea this is. It’s not that he’s bothered by the thought of cheating on Maureen, but there’s something about the combination of factors: Mac’s crusade against gay marriage, Dennis’ shotgun wedding, the way they’d crawled back to each other.

Something about the inevitability.

Dennis sucks in a sharp breath when Mac succeeds in pushing his jeans down and grabs a handful of his ass, pulling him in closer. There was a time when Mac was bad at this, too. Not terrible, exactly, but it was like with the kissing: all enthusiasm, no technique. The difference is that over the years, Mac’s technique for fucking Dennis has come on in leaps and bounds.

Their breathing is loud, harsh above the Taylor Swift song that Dennis would never admit to recognizing. He pulls back, trying to read Mac’s expression. It’s just that he doesn’t exactly understand why Mac’s doing this, after the whole ‘to be gay is to piss in the eye of the lord’ schtick he’s had going on for the past week. He doesn’t like it when he can’t parse Mac’s intentions.

There’s nothing concrete to latch onto in Mac’s eyes, just lust and the tail end of a smug smirk.

Dennis turns around. He braces his arms on the wall and pushes back against Mac. “Get on with it,” he orders, or tries to order. His voice lacks authority.

It doesn’t exactly matter, since Mac would do anything he asked regardless. Now, he pushes Dennis’ shirt up to crumple underneath his arms and runs hot, exploratory fingers along his spine, the slight dips of his ribs.

Mac’s messy with the lube, spreading it all over Dennis’ opening before he sticks two fingers inside. It’s a stretch, but not an unwelcome one. Dennis pushes back again, legs already feeling pleasantly unsteady. He closes his eyes and attunes himself to the rough rhythm of Mac’s breathing.

He never thinks of them as doing this _often_ , but it’s hard to make an argument against that hypothesis when Mac’s fingers find his prostate immediately, when his other hand snakes up to wrap around Dennis’ throat. There aren’t many things Dennis is generous enough to say Mac is expert on, but _this—_

Mac’s hand tightens and Dennis feels his pulse everywhere, feels as though his body is just one beating heart. He can still breathe, but he doesn’t want to. He closes his eyes and floats in the velvety blackness.

When Mac moves his hand Dennis whines at the loss, but it’s only so he can reach up Dennis’ shirt and roll one of his nipples between two fingertips while he adds a third finger to Dennis’ ass. It’s impossible not to let out a sound at that, a bitten-off half-noise that all the same seems loud in the echoey space.

“Shut up,” Mac says. Unkindly.

Dennis moans louder, not even as an intentional rebuke. He has a brief, absurd moment of regretting that Mac only had two hands, that he can’t touch Dennis in more places at once.

Pushing his nails into the sensitive point of Dennis’ nipple, Mac says again, “Shut _up_. Someone could come in and hear you.”

And they’ve already been banned for life from enough places for incidents along similar lines. It’s a decidedly unpleasant experience, but for some reason when Mac says it Dennis just gets hotter, feels like he’s too large for his own body. His next sound is actually quiet, barely audible over the music, but Mac sighs like he’s disappointed him and claps a hand over his mouth.

Then Mac, a hypocrite, starts talking. “It’s a good thing you won’t let me fuck you, Den,” he says, “you’re so messy already. When we go back out there everyone’s gonna know how good you took it. They’ll see what a slut you are.”

Dennis valiantly tries to moan through Mac’s palm.

Mac’s fucking him fast, now, with sinuous flicks of his wrist. He hasn’t touched Dennis’ dick, but he won’t have to.

“Been married a week and already you need someone else to fuck you,” Mac murmurs, right up against Dennis’ ear.

It’s a good thing Dennis isn’t being permitted to speak, because some primal, idiotic part of him takes issue with _someone else_. He could’ve picked up someone else tonight, but it hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d wanted Mac.

“It’s okay,” Mac says, and Dennis realizes he’s making wrecked gasping noises, muffled but audible nonetheless, “I’ve got you. You want me to touch your cock?”

Dennis shakes his head.

“Want to come on just my fingers?” Mac asks. Dennis makes no attempt to answer that, just slumps further forward and rests his head in the cradle of Mac’s forearm. His legs shake. “Okay, baby. Whatever you need.”

Dennis moans again, and Mac shifts his hand so it’s not covering Dennis’ mouth. Instead, he shoves three of his fingers in, cutting off the sound and making Dennis light-headed in the process. If he was in his right mind, the symmetry of Mac’s fingers in his mouth and ass might make him laugh, but as it is he just thrashes in Mac’s grip, wild with it.

The door bangs open.

A few things happen: there’s a blast of loud music, the sound of drunken female laughter, and Dennis comes.

He manages to do it soundlessly, but only by biting down on the fingers in his mouth. Mac, to his credit, doesn’t react verbally to the pain. And he keeps fucking Dennis through it, getting slower and gentler until Dennis stops twitching with the aftershocks. Then he pulls out and grabs some toilet paper to clean them both up.

The girls are talking merrily amongst themselves, hopefully none the wiser. Dennis twists round in Mac’s grip and blinks at the sight he makes: his face is bright pink and his lips are bitten red. There’s a bulge in his jeans that’s impossible to ignore.

Dennis finds, upon consideration, that he doesn’t want to ignore it. He reaches out and pushes the button open, draws the zipper down slowly enough that it doesn’t make a sound.

Mac’s eyes go wide and he gulps in a breath. Dennis holds a finger to his lips and wraps a cruel, tight hand around Mac’s dick. It’s probably not even pleasurable, but Mac shudders like it is. His eyes blink shut and then open again rapidly, like he can’t decide whether he wants to be looking at Dennis or not.

Outside their stall, the taps come on.

Dennis digs around in Mac’s front pocket for the sachet of lube from before, and empties the last of it onto Mac’s cock, smoothing the way to jack him off quickly and efficiently, pace punishing. He watches Mac’s teeth dig into his own lip with some satisfaction. This will be quick.

When Mac comes less than a minute later, it’s with a hissing outtake of breath and a jerk of his body that looks almost painful. Dennis smiles.

“That was so good,” he whispers directly into the shell of Mac’s ear. Then he steps back, waiting.

It takes another few seconds of giggling, but soon enough there’s another wave of music as the girls slam their way out of the bathroom.

As soon as they’re comfortably alone again, Mac says, “You _bastard_.”

“Sorry,” Dennis says unrepentantly. “Your dick seemed to like it.”

Mac slumps back against the wall. “Fuck,” he murmurs. “I can’t believe you, man. Jesus Christ.”

Dennis laughs. “You know what we should do?” he says, buttoning himself back up and straightening his clothes as best he can.

“What?” Mac asks. When he looks at Dennis, there’s something unbearably searching about his expression. There’s an answer he’s looking for, but Dennis doesn’t know what it is.

Dennis says, “We should drink more.”

After a shade of hesitation, Mac grins. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, we definitely should.” 

**Author's Note:**

> ...and then they went back to dennis' place and loudly sang 'the boys are back in town' and dennis got divorced
> 
> come hang out on my tumblr [here](https://morgans-starks.tumblr.com/) if you'd like! i'm also on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/oopshidaisy)


End file.
